Death: Genesis

Pudge leaped forward, his claws wreathed in [Hellfire] as he lashed out, ripping a huge chunk of earthy flesh from the giant’s torso. The damage didn’t end there, though – not before the corrosive flames claimed their due, at least. The fire took hold, consuming the giant’s muscular torso in a sudden burst of combustion. Pudge hit his enemy with a follow-up attack, swiping a hastily summoned [Netherclaw] across its legs before ripping through its face with an uppercutting claw that ended its life.

By then, Pudge had already turned his attention to the next target, but when he looked around, he saw that he was entirely surrounded by the giants. He still wasn’t sure how he’d been separated from his allies; in battle, he often gave himself over to his path of Ferocity, which served to increase his deadliness at the expense of reason. Normally, he could keep it under control, but the longer a fight went on, the more difficult it was to keep the bestial instincts at bay.

And it seemed that his lack of thought had finally come to claim its cost, because he was stranded amidst a sea of giants, each of whom was howling for his blood. They advanced, almost as one, hefting their massive weapons as they prepared to fall upon him with all the weight their huge forms and inflated stats could bring to bear.

But Pudge was not without tools of his own, and his recent influx of levels had given him a few new skills. First was [Bestial Senses], which he’d taken as much so he could regain the sensory acuity he’d lost upon ascension. Taking on a humanoid form was extremely useful, and not just because it had bestowed upon him a level of sapience that would’ve otherwise been impossible. However, it hadn’t come without a price, and [Bestial Senses] served to allay some of that cost by passively elevating his senses far beyond what he’d enjoyed as a dire bear.

The next skill he’d gained was decidedly less utilitarian in nature.

In fact, it was quite the opposite, and was probably the most devastating skill he’d ever been offered. However, it was one that required the proper circumstances to truly be effective; moreover, it was also incredibly destructive, so he’d yet to deploy it in an actual battle. Instead, his experience with the new ability was confined to a few hours he’d spent practicing in the wilderness.

Still, Pudge felt that he had a good handle on how it was supposed to be used.

So, he confidently held his ground as the giants advanced. The first to reach him aimed a massive warclub in his direction. Pudge ducked beneath the weapon’s horizontal arc, then dove to the side in an effort to avoid a descending axe. Another blade – which belonged to a sword that was at least six feet long – came at him in a diagonal swing that he barely managed to dodge. Then, another tried to spear him through the guts.

Pudge kept moving, narrowly avoiding being skewered, cleaved, or pummeled. But still, he waited, letting the giants close until they were packed in tight ranks that extended a few dozen feet all around him. Fortunately, Pudge’s kobold and centaur allies were nowhere to be seen, though judging by the distant sounds of clashing weapons, they were only a room or two away.

Hopefully, the walls were thick enough to keep them from being affected.

Pudge continued to dodge the giants’ attacks, though as they crowded closer, his margin for error slimmed to barely a sliver until he couldn’t avoid every blow. Instead, it took the whole of his skill – hard won through months of training as well as a host of life-and-death situations – to mitigate the damage.

Still, he waited.

Until, finally, Pudge could wait no longer. He used [Shadowfire Evisceration].

Instantly, his entire body exploded into a conflagration of hellfire and shadows, sending a shockwave of the same to sweep through the giants. The weaker ones howled in agony, but most giants were too durable to fall to the first part of the attack.

That was as Pudge expected, though, and he tensed as the second phase of the skill took hold. Wreathed in shadowy fire, he tensed as the giants looked like they froze in place. That lasted only a moment before they started moving again, though when they did, it was as if they were trying to do so while submerged.

That was the second part of the skill. It didn’t slow time. Instead, so long as he remained wreathed in shadowflame – which was a mixture of hellfire and shadows – his agility and dexterity experienced an exponential increase. It would only last for a few seconds, but to his perception, it felt more like a minute.

Then, the third part of the skill activated, and he felt himself become more insubstantial. To an outsider, it would look as if he simply disappeared, but the reality was that he became something more akin to a shadow.

Or a sliver of darkness, barely perceptible.

Finally, the fourth part of the skill took hold, and Pudge felt his claws grow longer, sharper, and far more destructive. The result wasn’t as dramatically deadly as [Netherclaw], but under that transformation’s influence, he was more than capable of ripping through all but the stoutest defenses.

The moment his transformation completed, Pudge launched himself forward, swiping his claws through the closest giant. They bit deep into the creature’s stomach, slicing through flesh and bone alike, before Pudge moved on to the next. Even as he did, an explosion of shadowflame arced out, enveloping the other giants.

Pudge pitched his own speed against the wave of shadowflame. He knew that was his timer; the transformation he’d experienced – both in terms of his increased agility and dexterity as well as the cloak of shadows keeping him hidden – would only last until the flames petered out. So, he needed to do as much damage as possible before that happened.

So, he leveraged every point of agility and dexterity he could muster as he tore through the giants. Rending flesh and bone, Pudge ripped through their ranks, leaving destruction in his wake. From his perspective, it was an odd feeling; despite the obvious power he’d brought to bear, the giants didn’t fall. Instead, they remained upright, though with every passing subjective second, they shifted a little from the momentum of his attacks.

And then, suddenly, the ring of shadowflame reached its terminus and petered out. Despite his practice, Pudge stumbled as his stats returned to normal levels and he slipped from the shadows.

But that slight stumble was nothing compared to the explosion that occurred all around him. Giants were thrown backwards. Some remained intact, though with grievous wounds. Others were burst into pieces. Few remained unharmed.

As soon as Pudge regained his balance, he ripped into those with a combination of [Netherclaw], his own natural weapons, and [Hellfire]. They didn’t last much longer, and when the dust settled only thirty objective seconds after he’d activated [Shadowfire Evisceration], he found himself standing over a couple dozen corpses.

His chest heaved as he tried to catch his breath, and he looked around to see that no enemies remained alive within the confines of the room. Outside, though, he could hear that the battle continued to rage. So, rolling his shoulders, he stepped over the giants he’d just killed, and headed deeper into the keep where he hoped to find more enemies to eviscerate.

* * *

Jasper had seen it, but he still wasn’t sure exactly what Pudge had done. One second, he was surrounded by more than a dozen giants, and the next, a wave of black flames swept across the room. Then, something had ripped the creatures apart, one after another.

It was surprising enough that he almost lost his beat, but the habit had long since become ingrained to the point that, even when he wasn’t using a skill like [Rhythm of War], he often found himself drumming his fingers against whatever surface he could find. Usually, it was his belt. Or his hip. At times, he even kept the beat by clicking his tongue. Whatever the case, the fact that Pudge’s skill – whatever it was – had nearly made the dark elf bard lose the beat was a testament to his shock.

He quickly recovered, though, and he was on the verge of lending a hand when Pudge finished the remaining giants off with his distinctive fighting style. Which was to say that he was like a feral animal given humanoid shape. Not for the first time, Jasper was grateful that the beastkin was on his side.

But that could apply to basically any of his allies.

Over the course of the battle – and the various skirmishes leading up to it – he’d seen just how much the kobolds had grown. Even the smaller ones were deadly with their bows, and their skills in stealth were as well-developed as any scouts’ he’d ever seen. The legionnaires and centurions were just as talented in their own areas, and they had become powerful in their own right.

However, their true strength came from the incredible degree of unity they showed. If he hadn’t known better, Jasper would have attributed it to a lack of sense of self. But he knew better. He’d spent quite some time with their battle leader, Silik, and he could confidently say that, though the kobold general was certainly the strong, silent type, he was just as capable of individual thought as anyone else Jasper had ever met. Still, they acted with unified purpose, in battle as well as with more peaceful practices – a trait that let them leverage far more collective power than would have been possible if they’d been more individualistic.

And then there were the ritualists, who, given time to prepare, were almost as deadly as that beastkin sorceress who’d remained within the tower.

None of them could hold a candle to Zeke’s power, though. The man had launched himself across the battlefield by way of catapult, and that wasn’t even the craziest thing Jasper had witnessed. And what’s more, he’d survived with almost no wounds to show for it, tearing down a well-fortified and heavily enchanted gate with no more trouble than if it had been a flimsy door.

All of Zeke’s other advantages notwithstanding, but that alone was enough to frighten anyone who knew anything about the world. That sort of ability – or technique, as he called it – was the sort of thing that could potentially bring down nations. From Jasper’s perspective, he could just imagine how such a thing could unbalance the tentative peace of his own homeland. There, powerful families like his own sheltered behind seemingly impenetrable defenses, secure in their own safety.

If they fell – especially via the efforts of a single warrior – chaos would ensue.

While Jasper didn’t think the Berghem’s gates had been as powerful enchanted as those of Jasper’s homeland, the fact that Zeke had torn through them with relative ease was enough to truly unnerve the dark elf.

And that wasn’t even considering the tactical advantage of the gates leading to the tower. Or the mobility of the tower itself. Zeke represented an entirely mobile nation, and one that could potentially pack enough of a punch to unseat established powers.

He was just getting started, too, which was both exciting and terrifying for anyone caught in the wake of his continued ascension. He wasn’t even halfway through the realm, and already, he was a walking natural disaster. What, then, would he become going forward?

Those thoughts and more accompanied Jasper’s mind as Pudge strode forward, climbing over the corpses of giants along the way. When the beastkin reached him, Jasper asked, “What was that?”

“A new skill. It worked well.”

Then, without another word, Pudge pushed past him, clearly searching for another battle to join. For his part, Jasper hung back. He could handle himself well enough, but keeping his skills active was far more important than whatever damage he could do with personal attacks. Even armed with something like [Siren’s Song] or [Dissonance], the effect of his direct participation in a pitched battle was minimal. However, with his other skills – or songs, as he thought of them – he could augment the collective power of his allies.

And with thousands of kobolds and centaurs on his side, that effect was significant enough that he had no intention of throwing himself into the fray. Still, even though he tried to keep clear of the battle proper, he was still forced to defend himself on more than a few occasions. When that happened, his goal wasn’t to win the uneven fight. Rather, he strove to escape and lead the giants to his allies.

Back home, he would have been called a coward for such tactics, and in the back of his mind, learned shame persisted. However, he’d long tried to move past the lessons of his youth and embrace reason over pride. He was mostly successful, but still, that imperious nature that was so common amongst his people had been so ingrained that he couldn’t completely escape it.

Even so, he tried.

As Jasper fought his own nature, the battle persisted, and slowly, the force of kobolds and centaurs – augmented by Pudge and a recently arrived Zeke – overcame the giants’ defenses. The advance wasn’t without casualties. Hundreds of centaurs – and dozens of kobolds – were killed. However, in battle, that was an expected price that inevitably had to be paid.

Finally, the army reached the throne room, where they faced off against a few powerful giants as well as their leader. Jasper never even had a chance to inspect them amidst the swarm of battle-weary kobolds and furious centaurs. They surged forward, burying the resisting giants under a mountain of bodies.

In that way, the Battle of Berghem met an anticlimactic end as the army finally slaughtered the last remaining giants. The final holdouts were powerful. In an individual fight, they would have been difficult for anyone but Zeke to defeat. However, with the weight of numbers on their side, the army of kobolds and centaurs would not be denied.

Still, the giants didn’t go down without a fight, but at such a disadvantage, their resistance was impotent.

Thus, Zeke and his mismatched army emerged victorious. But even as the battle came to an end, Jasper couldn’t help but wonder if it was the beginning of something far more important.